


Having Your Strings Plucked

by Speakeasysyn



Category: Brideshead Revisited (2008), Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
Genre: F/M, M/M, Psychic Bond, University AU, crossovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speakeasysyn/pseuds/Speakeasysyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This story begins with the bringing together of two individuals from completely different backgrounds and economic status. One is artistic and the other is scientific, essentially being opposites of the same coin. These two people, through time, space and destiny were brought together by an item that helped bond them together for the rest of their days and they didn't even realize it.<br/>That item, ladies and gentleman, is a banjo. A godforsaken banjo."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Insult My Banjo!

**Author's Note:**

> I love Cloud Atlas, Ben Whishaw and James D'Arcy. I also really love/hate that banjo D'Arcy plays in the movie "Overnight" (2012) as a college professor.  
> And thus I made a fic. With that banjo. Sort of.

It was midmorning, classes in full swing and the sun bright and warm from the summer holiday. The only oddity out of the day was the professor of Physics 201 who was currently getting an earful from the disgruntled professor of Musical Analysis 305 from next door. Over polished tan loafers stamped at the ground angrily while scuffed wing tips squeaked uncomfortably against the cold white tiled floor.

"I want that blasted banjo destroyed if I hear so much as a squeak out of it, Sixsmith!" Students looked back and forth between the two professors and their one-sided war of words.

Professor Rufus Sixsmith, full time professor of the University of Cambridge's Department of Physics and advisor for many of the physics majors, has had previous employment with the United Kingdom Space Agency. He gave that up, among other job offers, to become a humble professor in order to aid minds in learning the ways of physics, science and the world. Sadly, not everyone agreed with Sixsmith's way of teaching an introduction to sound waves with a banjo.

"Professor...Caaa--" Sixsmith held onto the first syllable as long as he could as he tried to recall the professor standing in front of him. Sixsmith's rule of socialization was: 'If you aren't part of my department I will most likely won't know your name. Forgive me.'  

A student in the third row held up a notebook with the name 'Carver' scribbled in large letters for him to see. Sixsmith quickly flashed an apologetic smile to his colleague. He let his hand rest on the body of his banjo, giving it a soft pat.

"Professor Carver! I'm sorry about the disturbance, but we are in the middle of a very important introduction to sound waves and I thought this would break up the monotony of--" Sixsmith was interrupted by an angry, gurgled growl from the deepest pits of that large professor of Musical Analysis' belly.

"And yet this is not the first time I've heard this excuse for your other very 'important' introductions to whatever it is you happen to be teaching! Why I ought to go to the dean for--"

"For how ridiculous your own actions are? Really, Professor Carver, you should be so humbled to be sharing a hallway with Professor Sixsmith. At least he isn't afraid to call out his own lack of skills when it comes to playing an instrument." Everyone turned to look up at the top of the lecture hall at young man with messy dark curls, disheveled clothes and a smug smile gracing his red lips, at least from what Sixsmith could see from down on his podium. Professor Carver fumed a bright lava red and pointed angrily at him.

"I've had enough of your blatant disregard for my authority, Frobisher! I will--"

"You'll what? Make me write down my crimes one hundred times? A thousand? Make me clean the brass again? I can practically see my reflection in those old sousaphones. You're running out of things for me to polish unless those _special favor_  rumors going around are true." Sixsmith stood in his place stunned, looking up at Frobisher and his satisfied smile as Professor Carver left the lecture hall without a response. Then Frobisher shifted his gaze to Sixsmith, the professor found himself quickly glancing away as if he had looked without permission.

"And you, Professor Sixsmith, should grow a back bone." Frobisher spoke loud enough that his voice reverberated around the lecture hall, sound waves beating down on Sixsmith's already bruised pride.

"I beg your pardon..." Students outside in the halls started to exit their classrooms, Sixsmith's class started to follow suit. Frobisher got up from his seat, old beaten bag slung over his shoulder as he walked down the stairs and up to Sixsmith's desk, still staring at him. Now Sixsmith was getting a better look at _the_ Robert Frobisher.

He was the self proclaimed musical genius under the tutelage of Professor Vyvyan Ayres (Head of the Department of Music).  Robert Frobisher, everyone called him Frobisher, was as chaotic as his appearance. Not once had anyone seen Frobisher in a pressed shirt unmarked by blotches of ink, ever. The joke was that if anyone was to ever see Robert Frobisher in a clean, snow white shirt without a single drop of ink on his person that they world was to end. Frobisher lived and breathed his major, his life, his dream as he called it with fervor during a basic communications class. He had a way of leaving an impression and for Sixsmith it was a dreadfully confusing one.

"If you spoke up for yourself you wouldn't have to rely on someone else to get you some results." Sixsmith frowned at the insult meant to be a compliment towards Frobisher himself. As if Sixsmith was about to thank Frobisher or even acknowledge such a selfish comment. Not to mention he insulted his (lack of) skills on the banjo. It wasn't like Sixsmith was asking for help either. All Frobisher managed was to invite himself into something he didn't need to be a part of and then expect payment for his "gracious" services. Sixsmith wanted to give Frobisher the benefit of the doubt, but...he certainly was selfish.

 Frobisher looked over Sixsmith more carefully, curiously even, his eyes moving down to the instrument with a spark of interest.

"Is this yours?" Sixsmith found himself nodding, Frobisher nodded slowly in thought and a smile curled onto his lips.

"You need to get it new strings. It sounds awful." And with that Frobisher turned at the heel and left for the day. Sixsmith stood there, hands on his banjo, trying to wrap his head around the student that just stood up for him against another professor, using baseless sexual rumors as his weapon, only to turn it all around and insult Sixsmith for his lack of backbone and banjo skills all within a span of five minutes.

Sadly, Sixsmith wasn't able to formulate a proper response from brain to mouth in the amount of time he had before Frobisher was out the door.

"Don't insult my banjo!" Sixsmith blurted suddenly, it made Frobisher stop and glance back at him curiously. A smile played across his features once more at Sixsmith's flustered response, but this time it was accompanied by a soft chuckle. Frobisher's laughter made his eyes light up brightly under dark tousled curls, widening that smile even more from ear to ear. Sixsmith was given a small little wave of long, slender fingers smudges with ink.

"Until next class, Professor Sixsmith." Frobisher was now gone, but in his wake was a first impression Sixsmith would never forget. Selfishness, dedication, tenacity, beauty...

Rufus Sixsmith stood on his podium in his empty lecture hall with a banjo clutched tightly in his hands even with a strap over his shoulder. His cheeks were dusted with a rosy red colour as that last word lingered in his mind.

"Insulting my banjo..the nerve..." Sixsmith mumbled to himself, trying to bury his feelings of wounded pride, embarrassment and curiosity for a student he barely knows.


	2. Start of a Summer Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected event leading to something possibly new and exciting for Sixsmith.

Rain pelted the old stone walkways, splashing up against Sixsmith's touser legs as he quickly ran through the quad to get to the music hall. With his banjo case in tow, the professor decided he'd visit the local music students that promised him a quick re-string to his trusty instrument. What Sixsmith thought would be a quick couple of minutes vanished from his mind when he open the old, wooden double doors to the hall and stared at the back of Robert Frobisher who was hunched over the piano. He was wearing a wrinkled, over sized,  sweater vest.

Frobisher looked absorbed in his work, feverishly scribbling and stabbing his pen at the composition paper flooding a table haphazardly dragged to the side of the piano for his convenience. Sixsmith tried to make his presence known with louder footsteps and that made Frobisher's fountain pen pause.

"Back again Carver? What, couldn't get enough of my tongue lashing at your fat--oh! Professor Sixsmith. What a surprise." Frobisher had turned mid-sentence to confront his perpetrator; the tone of his voice was honey coated arrogance but that melted into something akin to disappointment. It made Sixsmith furrow his brows as he held up his banjo case with his left hand. Apparently he wasn't a welcomed sight.

"Called earlier." Sixsmith dryly replied, Frobisher returned to his work, "Someone from the department said they could restring my banjo."

This made Frobisher snort with pride. The young man propped his head onto his hand and looked at Sixsmith with a half smile.

"Took my advice?" Frobisher's curiosity was halted when Sixsmith held up his right hand to show it was bandaged. The corner of his lips twitched a fraction of a frown.

"Would have done it myself, but I cut my hand during a lab in my advanced physics class yesterday." Frobisher nodded and went back to his papers and pen. Sixsmith walked forward and propped the case up against a wall, leaning himself against the piano.

"You do realize they charge you the same rates as a music store in town? I could restring it just as well, if not better, for free." the composure trailed off as he glanced up and down a newly finished page before crumpling it up and throwing it over the piano into a small mound of scrapped paper balls.  Sixsmith raised an eyebrow at Frobisher, unsure if this was a selfless act of charity or a ruse.

"Offering your esteemed services then?" Sixsmith inquired, which got him a chuckle and a playful smile from Frobisher who was looking up at Sixsmith with pale green eyes.

"I don't have time to waste on such things. Someone will be here eventually to aid you." Frobisher twirled his pen a bit and went back to his work again. Sixsmith crossed his arms and smiled. Why would he expect anything more than that?

"Even though you said it would take you a few minutes at most?"

"Not a second to spare, Professor Sixsmith." Frobisher replied quickly, still scribbling away.

"Please, just Sixsmith." The professor insisted with a curious lean to look at Frobisher's work.

"Oh, quick to jump the gap already? And we've only just met..." Sixsmith was immediately flustered as he moved back and Frobisher had amusement glinting in his eyes.

"Only teasing you, Sixsmith. Only teasing." Sixsmith scrubbed a hand over his face and looked away.

"So, _special favors_? I've never heard about that circulating in the faculty office." Sixsmith tried to change the subject after a long pause. Frobisher's pen skipped a beat, leaving a missing note in his mess of lines and dark circles.

"And you wouldn't," Sixsmith looked down with concern, Frobisher sounded unconcerned, "because it's baseless and untrue..."

Sixsmith stared for a moment before speaking.

"You made it up?" Frobisher smiled, shrugged and went back to his work.

"Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't, but it did shut him up, the fat, old bastard." He looked up at Sixsmith who looked down and his concern broke into a fit of laughter.

"You are impossible, Frobisher." Sixsmith managed to say between laughter, he didn't even notice the sound of heels clicking against tiles.

"Of course he's impossible, Professor. If he was anything else he wouldn't be Robert Frobisher." A female voice spoke confidently and with familiarity concerning the composer. Sixsmith and Frobisher looked up to see a young woman with dark hair cut in a short bob that ended just below her ears. She wore an emerald green dress with details in gold with matching green crystal earrings and a green beaded necklace.

"Julia, pleasure as always. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Frobisher sat up from the piano bench and placed his pen down delicately before walking over to give the young woman a peck on the cheek. Sixsmith was almost taken aback by how suddenly and quickly Frobisher abandoned his work to not only greet but make physical contact with another person.

"Actually..." Julia's voice got quiet after a quick glance towards Sixsmith and she whispered in Frobisher's ear which was willing to receive the information. Sixsmith leaned his back against the piano, trying not to look like he was prying. After some hushed, but harsh sighs from Robert he pulled back with what looked like a frown from the corner of Sixsmith's eye.

"Next time. Tell her next time, please?" Julia sighed, shoulders sinking, but she nodded. Frobisher gave her a quick hug before giving a smile and gesturing to shoo her away.

"Away with you now, woman. I am composing and do not wish to be disturbed." Julia laughed and made her way to the door, but not without having the last say.

"Then why, pray tell, is Professor Sixsmith still standing there, hm? Until next time Robert." The sound of heels clicking away at stone faded with the sound of old door hinges creaking. A silence fell upon Sixsmith and Frobisher. Sixsmith kept his back against the piano and Frobisher took his place back at the bench. Curiosity could have gotten the better of Sixsmith. He could ask " _Who was that girl? Family? Friend? Lover?_ " or " _That didn't seem like a very pleasing conversation topic._ " but then what would that gain him? What Sixsmith realized in the twenty-four hours of knowing the absolute existence of Robert Frobisher was that sometimes it was better not to ask and that time will eventually tell all.

"You know..." Sixsmith started quietly, turning his boy enough to look at Frobisher, "she has a point."

"Now is not the time for points to be made, Sixsmith! Now is the time for the birth of music." Frobisher did not pick up his pen, but instead placed his fingers against the black and ivory keys of the piano. Left hand playing a continuous melody, right hand for accompaniment, right hand melody, left accompaniment, it was a whimsical piece that reminded Sixsmith of summers with his family out in the country.

No longer was he against the piano, but instead sitting down in a chair next to Frobisher to marvel at his hands and how marvelous he was to watch play. Minutes turned into ten, fifteen, twenty more as Frobisher so graciously decided, as Sixsmith put it, to show the finer points of a piano in comparison to a meager banjo.

Before long, night had set and the campus lamps were all aglow with beads of water when Frobisher and Sixsmith emerged in a fit of bright laughter from the grotto of the music hall. Sixsmith couldn't recall the joke, only the good company he was in with Frobisher.

They eventually parted, Frobisher going back to his dorm and Sixsmith back to his flat. He only realized, once he was home, that he had never gotten his banjo re-strung. Instead he was given a phone number scrawled beautifully in black ribbons of ink on a torn piece of composition paper.

In the twenty-four hours of knowing Robert Frobisher's existence, Sixsmith was stood up for, quickly belittled for playing the banjo, captivated by green eyes and long, slender fingers, taught the basics of the piano and treated to crude humor, warming summer music and a bright smile on red lips.

Sixsmith had to wonder what else was in store for him tomorrow with the bright chaos that was Robert Frobisher.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that is Julia Flyte from Brideshead Revisited which Ben Whishaw was in. He played her brother Sebastian so for this Julia Flyte is Robert Frobisher's sister. I'll just say she chose to take her mother's name instead or something.
> 
> The song I was poorly referring to in the chapter title and the fic is "Sebastian" from the Brideshead Revisited OST.


	3. Etude of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frenzied, chaotic theory, it all leads to them.

Cambridge was bright, busy and lively just as the noon bells rang. Rufus Sixsmith had his suit jacket tucked under his arm as he walked among the rest of the universities populace, weaving between various paths to unknown destinations. There was chatter of a party next week Wednesday, a game to be played after lunch tomorrow, girls squealing over some new cd or something like that, all jumbled together. Sixsmith didn't feel the need to make sense of the many sounds surrounding him, but one voice, one sound in particular caught his attention.

"Professor."

Sixsmith slowly turned, still walking towards where ever he had the intention of going. It suddenly slipped his mind at the mere sound of that voice.

"Sixsmith! Do wait!"

Robert Frobisher was walking quickly towards Sixsmith, ignoring the professors pre-attempts at a waving gesture as a greeting by quickly linking arms and walking them back in the opposite direction in one fluid motion. Frobisher's expression was grim, dangerously serious with dark circles under his eyes as he looked forward and walked quickly.

"You won't _believe_ what I just composed. I _insist_ you listen to it this instant, Sixsmith! I am in _dire_ need of your ears." So the insistent proposal proclaimed, but Sixsmith wasn't all that daft and eventually he realized it wasn't a sudden request of the chaotic Frobisher, it was an excuse.

To back track, this was not the first time Frobisher had asked for Sixsmith's presence. On the morning after their late night spent in the music hall a few weeks ago (which seemed like yesterday), Sixsmith received a text message as the sun was still rising into a full morning.

" _Composing an etude. Reminds me of your banjo playing. Absolutely dreadful!_ " The message made Sixsmith's tired eyes squint even more. To be insulted or not to be insulted, that was the question. His phone vibrated again minutes after the first message had been sent.

" _Restrung your banjo. No need to thank me._ "

Again. Sixsmith didn't know how to interpret Frobisher's actions and replied as thus:

" _Then I won't thank you for giving up time to restring my banjo. And I certainly won't thank you for the lovely comment about my playing either._ " Sixsmith sent the message and fell back against his pillows and allowing his phone to drop onto his chest.

Birds sang and chirped outside his window, warm morning rays cascaded over his bare chest. The screen of his phone glared brightly, buzzed and was swiftly picked up to check the message.  

" _Your playing isn't dreadful, it's the etude. Come listen if you are so curious._ "

Sixsmith looked over at his clock, ticking away aimlessly. He had a few hours before his classes started. What was he doing? Was it right for him to rush out of his flat? Was it right for him to be sitting next to Frobisher? Was it right for him to be watching, listening, breathing the same air as his student?

All of those questions, curiosities, and hesitation seemed to vanish when Sixsmith was with Frobisher. Sixsmith had skills, but lack enough confidence while Frobisher lacked in certain regards he more than made up for it with confidence and absolutely knowing what he wanted. It made Sixsmith envious, to know what one wanted without a second thought. Or so he thought to himself.

His eyes had been glued to Frobisher for several minutes now and with his student staring right back at him. Sixsmith blinked then turned a light shade of pink as he sat back and made the gulf between them a little larger.

"Sorry! I'm sorry about that. I must have lost myself in your music, Frobisher." Sixsmith meekly said, giving a sheepish smile.

"I stopped playing five minutes ago. Were you that _enraptured_ by my presence, Sixsmith?" The professor looked away slightly, making the student laugh.

"Just teasing you! Though you should try and not let yourself walk into such situation if it makes you flustered. So how about breakfast?"

Sixsmith glanced at Frobisher curiously as his student got up from the piano and grabbed the familiar banjo case leaning against the wall, handing it off to Sixsmith.

"Breakfast? R-really?" Sixsmith took the case with a nod of his head and Frobisher smiled playfully.

"I teach you how to have a poker face in exchange for breakfast and some music."

"Oh, so I am to pay for your _charitable_ services, Frobisher?" Sixsmith got up and smiled back, Frobisher turned on his heel and walked towards the door.

"It's a date then, Sixsmith. Come along now, before the rush gets there!"

Sixsmith could only shake his head with a smile. This was a beginning to many such "dates".

\--

"No! No, no, no, Sixsmith! Not this way. I've acquired a bottle of red you should most definitely try. You said you liked red, yes?" Frobisher gracefully turned them around one day in the heated hour of dusk.

"I said red and white make no difference to me, Frobisher. It's _you_ who enjoys red." Sixsmith smiled, linking their arms. Frobisher rested his head against Sixsmith's shoulder and smiled brightly, long slender fingers entwined together.

"Indeed I do, but waste not, want not, Sixsmith! I cannot _possibly_ finish off the bottle myself. It would be a crime not to help me by leaving it sitting there!"

Their laughter was bright like the setting sun, warm reds, golds and oranges hugging their darkening silhouettes.

\--

" _Lit a violin quartet on fire with a piano accompaniment. Ayrs is weary of my constant presence in the hall. Lunch?_ "

Sixsmith glanced at the text then back at his class currently slaving over am exam. He quietly tapped away at his phone with a small smile.

" _Order my usual, still in the midst of testing students. I'll be there soon._ "

His phone blinked a usual quick response.

" _Aren't you the dreadful professor today. Someone deserves dessert. Your treat, as usual._ "

\--

"Absolutely not, Sixsmith! What kind of daft idea is that?" Frobisher yelled into the phone as he stood atop his dorm bed. His entire floor was covered in composition paper. Sixsmith was sitting at his coffee table on the floor, tests and papers stacked neatly in 'done' and 'to-do' piles.

"The kind of daft idea that is telling you to sleep, Frobisher. And I will not extend your paper due date either. I can't give you any more leeway." Sixsmith could hear Frobisher groan and fall onto his creaking bed, the springs squeaking through kinetic and potential energies before coming to a complete rest under Frobisher's weight.

"I don't have time for papers on physics! You know this. I am nearly done with my concerto!"

"And if I recall that's what you said last week and the week before." There was a long pause before Frobisher spoke again, voice aching with defeat.

"Please, Sixsmith. Just a few more days?" Sixsmith sighed and looked over his watch.

"Is the bar still open?" Frobisher could hear the shuffling of papers on the other end.

"Yes, but why?"

"Meet me there--"

"But why--"

"You. Me. Paper. You will get it done without an extension." Sixsmith chuckled at the silence on the other end of the line.

"Offering your _esteemed_ services, Sixsmith?" Frobisher smiled, getting off his bed and kicking away papers in his path.

"Not unless you buy me a pint."

"How about red instead?"

"Now Frobisher." Sixsmith laughed before ending the call. The feeling of giddiness filled Sixsmith's chest as he left for their usual bar, made a point to sit in their usual booth in the back, greeted Frobisher with a small wave as always and made sure his student got his work done. There was a difference to this day though.

Sixsmith had noticed their personal space had gotten closer, gestures and touches more intimate, but it still threw him for a loop when he felt cherry red lips against his. Sixsmith closed his eyes, let a hand rest upon Frobisher's hip and let the feeling of slender, callused fingers encompass the sides and back of his neck. Thumbs rubbed small circles just before his ears at the dip under his cheek bones. Frobisher was the one to control the kiss, Sixsmith more than happy along for the ride, he was also the one to pull back.

"Thank you." Frobisher whispered softly, lips brushing against Sixsmith's.

"For aid on your paper?" Sixsmith asked, letting his eyes go half mast as Frobisher continued to rub small circles with his thumbs.

"Nonsense, dearest Sixsmith. My kiss to you is far beyond the scope of this paper or any paper." Frobisher smiled warmly, foreheads touching, noses tip to tip.

"Then it's for what?" Asking a question he already knew the answer to, making Frobisher chuckle.

"Not for what, for who. For you, dearest Sixsmith."

That night they shared one last kiss, soft, unhurried and warm like the evening air. They parted the bar quietly, separately. Sixsmith walked Frobisher back to his dorm, half way hooking his fingers with Frobisher's. The student finished the rest, intertwining their hands. There wasn't a need for direct communication. At least not at this point. In the short span of a few months, countless memorable rendezvous, there was no need for them to really speak. They both just knew.

Sixsmith finally parted with Frobisher, giving his student a small wave before turning around and leaving for his flat. It gave Frobisher enough time to run up to his room and look out the window to watch Sixsmith make his way through the dark campus from his window. Frobisher watched Sixsmith as long as he could before the night swallowed him up from his view. Frobisher smiled warmly, his heart ready to burst from his chest.

He didn't even notice the letter neatly propped up against his bedside lamp. He could hardly focus on anything else, let alone a letter addressed from a Brideshead Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this time setting is rather weird. Weather wise it's about to be summer. So this would be the semester before summer holiday (right?) and it's a modern au. Not that I've ever made that clear...I apologize.


	4. Oncoming Summer Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bump in the road...

The term was drawing to a close, heralding summer holiday as a much welcomed relief for students and professors alike. Rufus Sixsmith was sitting on a bench in an outdoor hall in some neck of the school. He had finished his classes earlier than usual by giving his students, but mostly himself, an early start to summer holiday. Sixsmith had juggled the idea of going to visit his brother up in Yorkshire to see his niece Megan. Though the more he thought about it he should have planned the holiday in advanced. For now the thought was thrown to the back of his mind when his news paper was suddenly taken from his hands by a passing individual who almost fell over trying to turn to apologize. Pale green eyes were red and glassy, watery at the edges.

"Frobisher? What's going on--" Frobisher quickly sat down next to Sixsmith and grabbed his paper to hold it up, obscuring his face from view.

"Shh, shush Sixsmith. I'm b-being followed." Sixsmith noticed Frobisher's hands trembling and took half of the newspaper so he could  squeeze Frobisher's hand behind the business section.

"Something's wrong? You look..."

"Haggard? Drunk? I had to drown myself after getting this awful letter." Frobisher was about to pull something from his vest pocket when loud footsteps turned a corner, making him flinch and hide behind the newspaper more. Sixsmith glanced at an older gentleman looking left and right for someone before leaning over and draping an arm around Frobisher's shoulders, making sure the younger man's head rested against his shoulder. Sixsmith held up the paper a little higher, but not enough to get too many looks as he tried to soothe Frobisher with soft words to relax his posture.

The man in a hurry quickly walked past them without a glance and vanished around a corner. Sixsmith looked  to the side, as did Frobisher, both of them quickly got up, grabbed Sixsmith's things and bolted from the outdoor hall.

Half way to Sixsmith's flat, the professor finally nudged his student.

"Might I inquire as to who that was?" Frobisher looked pale from the question and pulled out a crumpled letter from his vest pocket, handing it to Sixsmith. The professor took it gingerly and retrieved the contents. A letter, half a page filled with the most delicate cursive he had ever seen. It gave Frobisher's already beautiful handwriting a run for its money.

"From Brideshead Manor? _The_ Brideshead? The one you have vocally shouted that you hate?" Frobisher nodded at Sixsmith's bewilderment, looking at that letter made Frobisher more depressed by the second.

"From your mother?" Frobisher nodded again, now needing a place to sit down and straying from the sidewalk to lay down on the grass in the warm sun light. Sixsmith had never seen Frobisher look so small, but it was something only he was privy to see.

"She wants me to come home for the summer." Sixsmith sat down next to Frobisher, the younger responded by rolling over and resting his head against Sixsmith's thigh. The older ran his fingers through Frobisher's hair, moving curls from his eyes.

"It's only the summer." Frobisher looked up defiantly at Sixsmith, a painful frown on his lips.

"You don't know how dreadful mater is. Pater is bad, but she is...intolerable. They don't understand. And..." Frobisher looked away from Sixsmith and sighed, the other waited for the rest of the possible tirade.

"And you won't be there. I'll be so dreadfully bored, Sixsmith." Sixsmith blushed slightly and Frobisher cracked a smile at his embarrassment.

"I demand you come with me, as my guest. I know you aren't doing anything and it will keep mater off my back." Frobisher pouted and rolled onto his back, reaching an ink smudged hand up to caress Sixsmith's cheek. The way Frobisher looked up at him with those eyes, it wasn't any wonder when they finally made it to Sixsmith's flat to pack his bags for the summer stay at Brideshead Manor.

Of course this gave Frobisher free reign to rifle through Sixsmith's drawers.

"Really Sixsmith? This tie is horrendous. Don't you have a single black tie in here?"  Frobisher's comments were indulged with sarcastic laughter and chaste kisses as Sixsmith milled around for whatever he needed. Frobisher made himself welcome to Sixsmith's bed.

"Shit..." Sixsmith stood in front of his wardrobe, sifting through work shirts, sweaters and vests.

"That was certainly eloquent." Frobisher mused from the bed, laying on his side and picking through Sixsmith's open suit case.

"I don't have a proper dinner suit here." The middle class professor looked back at the upper crust student on his bed. Frobisher seemed indifferent.

"And?"

"And? Don't I need one if I'm having dinner with your fairly rich family?"

"It's just Mater and a few others."

"Frobisher." Sixsmith groaned, pleading with his eyes.

"Sixsmith." Frobisher smiled from his lax position.

"I want to make a good impression." Sixsmith moved over to the bed and placed the suit case on the floor, allowing Sixsmith the comfort of climbing onto his bed to lay down next to Frobisher.

"Impressions were never your strong suit, dearest Sixsmith." Frobisher wrapped his arms around Sixsmith's neck and kissed him slowly. Sixsmith broke the kiss, but placed a hand on Frobisher's side.

"Frobisher." Sixsmith insisted with his tone and Frobisher sighed with a roll of his eyes.

"Alright, alright you win Sixsmith. Give me a second." Frobisher rolled onto his back and dug through a pocket to retrieve his cell phone. He clicked the number three on speed dial and stared at the ceiling, dial tone quietly muffled in Sixsmith's ears.

"Julia? Yes, I need a suit for my guest. Is Charles going to be there? Oh, he is there. Ask him if he has another dinner suit." Frobisher took the moment to quickly kiss Sixsmith, letting their lips linger before getting a response.

"Thank you Julia. I'll see you in a few hours then. No. Nooo. Yes, Sixsmith. No. Sixsmith, do you have a bathing suit?" Frobisher asked suddenly and Sixsmith nodded hesitantly. That smile was bordering close to vixen-like.

"Yes, he does Julia." Frobisher chuckled, hand brought up to stroke under Sixsmith's chin. "Oh, alright then. Bye bye, dear. Mhm, love you too." Frobisher ended his call with a satisfied smile and dropped his phone to the side.

"Julia Flyte? The same Julia I see occasionally with Charles Ryder, the art major?" Sixsmith asked, Frobisher nodded.

"She's my sister. Charles is her boyfriend. Both our childhood friend."

Sixsmith moved onto his back and stared at the ceiling. There was a pause of silence before he spoke.

"It'll be a good summer." Frobisher looked over at Sixsmith and traced a finger along his cheek bone, the smile faded into a slight frown.

"How do you know? I've told you how dreadful mater is." Sixsmith turned his head and brought his hand up and grab Frobisher's to give it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'll be spending it with you." Sixsmith said softly, rolling over to pull Frobisher into a hug.

"Let's make it an eternal summer. You and I, my dearest Sixsmith." Frobisher smiled sadly, returning the much needed contact and running his fingers through Sixsmith's short hair. "An eternal summer, always alone, where the fruit is always ripe..." Sixsmith smiled and kisses Frobisher gently.

"Bring the banjo." Frobisher said suddenly, making Sixsmith pull back.

"Excuse me?"

"Bring the banjo." Frobisher insisted.

"You want me to torment everyone with a banjo? You do realize that includes you."

"I don't care if it does. As long as _you_ play it,  I don't mind."

And like any of their other days at Cambridge, it ended in laughter and bright smiles.

It was only in the chauffer driven car did Frobisher's complexion turn a ghostly white again as the splendid manor came into view under the moon light. Strings of white lights decorated the well trimmed shrubbery and trees for what looked like a garden party ready to be unveiled.  Sixsmith was entering a new world, another life and all of its splendid temptations and glamour. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was bumpy, but it GETS BETTER. I THINK.


	5. Appearances Can Be Deceiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sixsmith gets into a nice suit.

The large black car drove up to the front of the house. Rufus Sixsmith gazed out the window in awe at the sheer mass of the manor. He was all but pressing his face up against the car window to get a better view of the top as the car went down the drive.

"No need to be childish..." Robert Frobisher trailed off on the last word when he looked over Sixsmith. He smiled sadly and shifted closer to the other, thighs touching. It pulled the physicist away from the house instantly and they shared a quiet kiss. Frobisher was glad Sixsmith didn't hear him that time.

 Julia Flyte, dressed in a beautiful white dress, and two hand maids soon came into view as the car rounded a corner. A taller man was dressed in his casual wear in comparison to Julia and stood off to the side. The car finally rolled to a stop and the driver got out first to open the door. Frobisher slipped out quickly, practically dragging Sixsmith up the front marble stairs.

"Robert, thank you for _not_ ditching this time." Julia smiled apologetically and Frobisher smiled back with so much sarcasm it was borderline insulting, even for these siblings. The smile dropped quickly though when he turned to look over Sixsmith, flattening the lapels of the tweed jacket for no apparent reason. Sixsmith placed his hands on top of Frobisher's and craned his neck to look the other in the eyes and smiled. Frobisher smiled back, cracked and hesitant, mouthing a thank you.

He remained silent to save his sister anything else he might regret later and the taller man walked down the steps to greet them, holding out his hand for Sixsmith and breaking the silence.

"Professor, glad you could join us. Charles Ryder. I've been in your basics physics class before." Sixsmith shook Charles' hand firmly and smiled.

"Glad to see be here and it's nice to see everyone out of a school setting." Julia watched as Sixsmith's hand planted itself onto Frobisher's hip to give it a soft squeeze. It seemed to reassure the other and Frobisher tugged for Sixsmith to enter the house.

"Let's get settled then before the...whatever it is mater has planned, god help us all." Frobisher linked arms with Sixsmith and dragged him through opening double doors. Two butlers bowed, greeting and welcoming back their "Lord Robert". The title seemed to make Frobisher more and more uneasy as he was referred to it and Sixsmith chuckled. They walked into a brilliant, main hall with beautiful stone carved square pillars climbing up to a beautiful fresco painted on the arching ceiling to a central dome.

"Lord Robert? Do I need to start calling you that too?"  Sixsmith asked playfully as they walked through another set of double doors and turning a corner to walk down a hallway lined with marble busts being polished by a small team of maids.

"You wouldn't dare, dearest Sixsmith." Frobisher glared in annoyance but smiled a second later and rested his head against Sixsmith's shoulder affectionately. Julia and Charles watched from behind, glancing at one another as they all ascended a stair case to the second floor.

"Professor, I was wondering..." Charles started off quietly when they all entered a large, lavish bedroom where the butlers placed Sixsmith's belongings off to the side.

"Don't be formal, Charles. Just call him Sixsmith." Frobisher demanded as he sat down in a cream coloured chair, slouching into a relaxed state of disarray as he slowly removed his tie and vest, throwing them in random directions. Sixsmith stood near the end of the bed awkwardly and watched as Charles sat down in the chair beside Frobisher, cocking a smile.

"Just as _charming_ as usual. You certainly never change." Frobisher seemed to force a look of disregard as he was now facing his entire body away from Charles. Charles Ryder was tall, not as tall as Sixsmith by at least an inch (Sixsmith reassured himself), but he made up for that by being well built. Sixsmith recalled on the ride down that Charles was training for the service. Frobisher seemed indifferent about the news, but Sixsmith saw the way the composer fidgeted with his fingers against the cars arm rest by playing a soundless tune to everyone but himself.

He was doing it again, even as Charles reached over and messed up his hair. Frobisher's demeanor of indifference cracked into a smile and he quickly turned to do the same to his childhood friend. Sixsmith watched them, half smiling on the bed. He watched Frobisher put Charles into a playful headlock, Julia insisting they stop their childish antics before someone, or something, got broken. Sadly, her argument held little weight when Charles grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into the fray.

There was a gulf between them now, between Sixsmith and Frobisher, though in reality it was about two feet from Sixsmith's knee to Frobisher's foot. The idea wormed its way into Sixsmith's mind, that social classes can make such a difference. The idea though, didn't seem to last long when Frobisher broke away from the group and pulled Sixsmith towards him with a bright, exuberant smile. The gulf seemed to dissipate, for now at least, as all four of them ended on the floor in a fit of laughter.

"I propose we show Professor Sixsmith the Temple of the Four Winds." Julia announced suddenly, resting against Charles while messing up her brothers hair. Frobisher gently batted her hand away and leaned back against Sixsmith's chest, the other responded by hugging him around the waist.

"Don't be so boring, Julia. Why not ask our guest what _he_ would like to do. What would you like to do anyway, Sixsmith?"

"You may all start by attending the party downstairs." An older female voice spoke from the doorway. They all turned to look at the source of the voice, but only Frobisher seemed genuinely excited as he got up and quickly hugged the elderly woman in his arms. She gave a tired smile, mostly from her old age, but the presence of Frobisher seemed to lighten the years on her aging face.

"Dearest nanny, how are you? Have you been feeling well? You must be if you are up and about. Sixsmith! Come here and introduce yourself." Frobisher spoke a mile a minute. Sixsmith chuckled and got up as told, smiling and shaking the elderly woman's hand.

"You must be Robert's friend from school? He has told me much about you, young man, but he certainly left out how dashing you are." She nodded with a sly smile, Sixsmith smiled sheepishly and Frobisher fumed.

"Oh nanny, I can't have you stealing him away! He's mine and you know I don't share." The nanny pinched Frobisher's cheek and gave it a good tug, it was an endearing action that Frobisher seemed to relish.

"Well you will be even happier to know your mother, Lady Frobisher, is gone for the night."

"Are you sure, nanny? I saw her just this morning." Julia asked with concern while Charles helped her up from the floor. The elderly caregiver nodded.

"She was asked to go down to..somewhere." Frobisher snorted at his nanny's aging mind which earned him a light tug of his ear. "She will be away for a short while it seems and wished for you, Lady Julia, to cover tonight's festivities."

Julia was less than thrilled by the sudden change of her activities and swiftly left with Charles in tow to get changed as quickly as possible. Frobisher gave his nanny a quick kiss to the cheek.

"Thank you nanny. You always had a knack for giving great news." She cupped Frobisher's face and smiled.

"Of course, my child. So, shall we get you both ready? I assume your guest needs a dinner jacket from what Julia mentioned earlier in the day."

Before Sixsmith had a chance to speak, comment or protest he was quickly dragged away by two butlers and one hand maid. Frobisher gave a hearty laugh at the departure and waved gracefully.

"See you downstairs, my dearest Sixsmith. May they treat you with the utmost kindness."

\--

Sixsmith was suddenly enveloped in a figurative tornado of chaos. One minute, he's standing in his grey suit pants, shirt, grey vest and matching tweed jacket of moderate price, but visibly over worn, to a formal dinner suit with the shiniest lapels Sixsmith had certainly ever seen only in catalogs. Even the one he did have was not nearly as fine, clean cut or even a proper fit. This suit was as if tailored specifically for him.

"It is, sir. Lord Robert gave us some rough numbers to work with. Thankfully you are almost the same measurements as Sir Charles." One of the butlers answered to Sixsmith's question that he was pretty sure he asked inside his head. He looked over himself in the mirror, his hand ghosting down brand new black silk. He swallowed and stood a little straighter, but started to fidget when he noticed his hair. He never really cared to keep his hair presentable for classes, at least not to the caliber he was about to walk into downstairs.

"Do you have any..." Sixsmith gestured vaguely to his hair and the butler stared for a moment before motioning to the dresser that seemed to have everything and more at Sixsmith's disposal.

Hair gel, comb, brush, cologne, shaving soap, cuff links by the dozen, it all seemed surreal and overly expensive for the professor. He took the gel and a comb, slowly working his hair just right. He parted it at his left, made sure every hair was in place and looked at the two butlers helping him for some form of reassurance.

They both gave him an unsure hand gesture and motioned to his chin. Sixsmith ran his hand across his face. Stubble. Of course he didn't shave this morning, it was the day of summer holiday and he was expecting a lazy evening of doing whatever it is he and Frobisher would have been doing at this time not in a castle and not at a garden party.

\--

Frobisher was already dressed and downstairs on the grounds, his hair brushed and gelled into order. He refused to mingle with anyone and stood by Charles. Both were in a three piece dinner jacket, white waist coat and white bow ties. Charles' suit was more worn in and Frobisher's looked almost like it had to be dusted off from the darkest recesses of an old closet. Julia was the most comfortable out of them all and made it rather obvious by the way she wasn't dreadfully sweating like some of the other party goers.

"I just want to leave. Why do I need to be here if mater isn't?" Frobisher whined to Charles, the other thankfully grabbed two flutes of champagne and handed one to Frobisher. He would have gladly taken both.

"Presentation? Obligation?"

"Because I said so. If I am to suffer, so is he." Julia said with her arms crossed. She glared at her brother and he returned the gesture. Something suddenly caught Julia's eye and she broke the glaring contest with Frobisher to look up at the source of a long shadow. Frobisher glanced over, but did a doubt take when his eyes met bright blue ones.

Frobisher didn't usually care for appearance, much less his own, but that didn't stop him from whispering one word that, in his mind, perfectly described Rufus Sixsmith at this very moment. Or in all honesty, any moment.

"Gorgeous..." Charles could barely heard the word escape Frobisher's lips, but the awe in the other's eyes was enough.

Sixsmith's dinner jacket, white waist coat and white bow tie looked astonishingly different from the rest of the party goers. He was far more clean cut than what Julia, Charles and Frobisher had seen a half hour before. He was almost regal in every sense from the way he walked to how he held his head to that little white pocket square at his breast. His serious expression, striking blue eyes and slicked back blonde hair made him more than blend in with the rich and fabulous, if anything it made him stand out.

"He looks like one of those old portraits, like The Duke of Windsor or something." Charles whispered to Julia. Her brother handed his unfinished glass to her and walked towards Sixsmith, enraptured and enchanted.

"S-Sixsmith, you certainly--" Frobisher needed to clear his throat, hands hovering around the other and unsure of where to touch first, "You certainly clean up nicely. Very nicely."

That regal facade seemed to triple in intensity when Sixsmith smiled at the compliment and Frobisher imagined a weak kneed version of himself falling to the ground, a complete love-struck mess. What seemed like an eternity was only two minutes before Sixsmith gently nudged the other back to reality.

"Are you alright?" Sixsmith asked with concern, taking a hold of Frobisher's forearm to give it a gentle squeeze.

"Yes, I'm just--"

"He is completely in love with you, Professor." Julia chimed in with a cunning smile before taking Charles by the arm and making a hasty, but graceful escape.

"Julia." Frobisher groaned, not giving his sister the satisfaction of turning around and making a scene. To his surprise, Sixsmith leaned in close to Frobisher's ear and whispered softly. His breath was warm like the summer wind and gentle like soft clouds.

"I wish to return the love to our Lord Robert Frobisher." A shade of pink brushed Frobisher's cheeks, his hands finally taking hold of Sixsmith's lapels and pushing him around the side of the stairs to hide from wayward eyes. They shared a kiss that seemed to last the entire night. Neither remembers smiling or laughing. They did remember the dancing though. Sixsmith remembers the way Frobisher's body moves in front of him, the world spinning around them in a colourful blur. Frobisher remembers the smile on Sixsmith's face and the way he's held in strong hands.

Neither could remember such a perfect night and it was only to get better.

Or so they could only hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get Frobisher back into Frobisher mode and not in Sebastian mode. It's hard. Really hard.  
> [And this is Sixsmith's dinner suit look, FYI](http://attheloft.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54ecca8b988330153908e29c8970b-pi)  
> And if you want a mental song for this: Masterpiece by Madonna is great. There's a really awesome Frobsmith fanvid on Youtube to it.


	6. A Waking Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four go to the beach, only two remain

"Charles! Don't be a prude with those stuffy drawings and come over here so we can take a picture!" Frobisher quickly gestured with much impatience. It was the height of summer with blue skies, clear waters and soft white clouds meandering across the horizon. It was like a perfect beach getaway. Four towels were cleanly lain out on the sand under a large parasol with a wicker basket bursting with various snacks, fruits and drinks. The sound of laughter permeated the sea air.

 Charles Ryder was perched upon a small foldable stood, the fabric seat blue with white stripes. The artist looked up, charcoal pencil paused in hand, at the moving image of Frobisher to the left, smiling brightly up at Sixsmith. The professor's golden hair fluttered against the sea breeze while he had a gentle, but firm arm around the composer's small waist. Charles could faintly make out the brief way Sixsmith's fingers brushed around his student's hip, thumb pressed into pale skin as they were moved around by Julia. Sixsmith always seemed to be within a hairs distance of Frobisher to make him smile or to check if he is well. It made Charles smile, comforted that his childhood friend just might have found the peace of mind he desperately needed. There was the far-away sounds of gulls crying in the distance as Charles rose from his place and walked through the warm sand to join the smiling party for a picture.

The four together had decided earlier in the day to dedicate some time to the beach. This only arose after Sixsmith bashfully admitted he had never really been on a proper, but not the Frobisher definition of proper, beach vacation as they batted possible destinations over eggs benedicts and toast. Next thing Sixsmith knew, he was wedged between Charles and Frobisher in the backseat of the Frobisher's spare posh Rolls-Royce while Julia sat comfortably in the passenger seat beside the driver, heading towards a fairly secluded beach front area both Frobisher and Julia frequented as children.  It was like a dream vacation in a travel pamphlet Sixsmith had thumbed through long before he became a professor and had dreams of wanting to be able to go on such a vacation as he struggled to pay for tuition, bills, food and rent.  

"Still no sign of mater?" Sixsmith asked as he and Frobisher walked hand and hand along the shore line, their foot prints vanishing with each ebb and flow of the tide. Frobisher gave Sixsmith a content smile, squeezing his and Sixsmith's fingers slightly.

"Thankfully no, but I know she'll appear at some point. She always does, appearing at the worst possible moment, I mean. It's her best and most dreadful skill besides being a horrid person." Frobisher spoke with melancholic confidence and venom. It made Sixsmith frown. What could possibly make someone dislike their own mother so much? Abuse? Neglect? Strict parenting? Even though Sixsmith was close to Frobisher in more ways than one, he still felt at a distance.  They were nothing alike in regards to personality, interests or even economic standing. Sixsmith wasn't old enough to give them a considerable generation gap, but when it came down to the bottom line of it all they were probably the most incompatibly compatible individuals on the planet. They bickered, they teased, they taunted, but they were able to fill a void in the other and make them feel whole like two jigsaw puzzle pieces. But for Sixsmith is felt like just an outer frame of the complete picture with patches of connected pieces floating in empty space inside the frame. He wanted to bridge the gap, to learn more about the composer Robert Frobisher, son of the wealthy Frobisher family, brother to Julia, despondent child of Lord and Lady Frobisher and childhood friend of Charles Ryder.

It had initially made Sixsmith slightly jealous that Frobisher and Charles were so close, but after watching them on several occasions Frobisher seemed to keep the other at arm's length. They were childhood friends, but Frobisher seemed to flip like a switch with his attitudes (not that he wasn't normally like that). In some cases he treated Charles with a warm smile and in others he would push the other away or display displeasure over something Charles did to make the other retreat away or back to Julia. The young lady of the group eventually told Sixsmith that her brother use to have a crush upon Charles as she twirled her parasol between delicate fingers. Julia laughed at Sixsmith's visible twitch at the news and reassured him that "Robert has absolutely no feelings of the sort for Charles."

Yet Sixsmith couldn't help but wonder why Julia looked so sad smiling as she watched her brother and boyfriend point and watch the ships ride the sea waves with child like glee.

As night fell and the stars peppered the sky, Frobisher and Sixsmith bid farewell to Julia and Charles for the night after dinner. The large beach house was painted in white with details of light blue on the window shutters, the back of the house facing the water mostly covered in large paned windows to give the residents clear views of the beach and sea. Sixsmith followed Frobisher up the stairs to where there room was. It looked out over the beach more than the sea.

Frobisher pulled the string of a floor lamp on with a quick flick of his wrist, the light bulb clicking on to warmly display the gentle kiss shared between student and professor. The composers fingers slightly uncurled from the lamp string, sliding down the braided thread as two hands slid down his back and came to a rest on his hips, giving them a squeeze. Both of Frobisher's hands fell to his side as Sixsmith continued to kiss him, nibbling and sucking on the younger man's lower lip only to receive an impatient tongue wanting to taste the hints of wine and dark chocolate that was had for dessert. Sixsmith could only smile and oblige the demand by parting his lips. He could never truly say no to Frobisher, as selfish as he was, especially not when those long slender fingers were pushing him back onto the bed and having those sharp hips in the palms of his hands. But Sixsmith knew--maybe not at that exact moment--that Frobisher's self inclined need to please only himself was just the composers way of getting attention. The more Sixsmith spent time in or near the Brideshead mansion and its occupants the more he realized how despondent and horrible it made Frobisher feel. He could see the life being sucked out of the other, watching the music fade into white noise, like a flower wilting under the desert sun with no water. Sixsmith could only imagine what Frobisher's condition would be if he was by himself in that cold, empty mansion. The thought made Sixsmith's stomach churn. So he embraced Frobisher as his lover and gave the younger man whatever he wanted of him, the night seemed to last forever as they stayed skin to skin, limbs tangled together with the bed sheets and cheeks dusted with rosy complexions.

The morning after, when the sun had risen into the sky and the gulls chirped and cried with the new morning tide, Sixsmith awoke to a half empty bed. He slowly reached over to the cold space, allowing his hand to run over the sheets. Maybe he was downstairs? Maybe he was outside enjoying the sun? Sixsmith wasn't sure so he rose from the bed and got himself presentable. When he descended the stairs he found Charles pouring himself a cup of tea with a note left unfolded on the table.

"Is Frobisher with Julia?" Sixsmith asked curiously, trepidation filling his voice as he was not entirely use to being alone in the same room as Charles. Student or not, it was hard for Sixsmith to be professional in an expensive beach house owned by his lover's very rich family.

"Yes, but they aren't here." Sixsmith stared at Charles in deeper confusion and the artist plucked the note from the table, gently handing it over to Sixsmith. The professor's fingers unfolded the note, letting his fingers feel the smooth, satin texture of the crème coloured stationary.

 It was from Julia and Frobisher, but was written by Frobisher. Apparently Mater was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this ended up being filler to try and get back into the swing of things. I think?
> 
> I'm trying to plan out how this will end and I hope it's a happy ending. But knowing the Ben Whishaw plague it won't be happy. NONE OF HIS CHARACTERS ARE EVER HAPPY IN THE END. (MAYBE)


End file.
